Free Mutual Consent by Gayle Buck Page A

warm strength of his clasp. How much she wished that she could believe that it was there for her. She said unthinkingly, “I prefer to be called Babs.”
    Even as she sat reduced to speechless amazement by her own unaccountable confidence, the earl nodded. “Babs it is, then,” he said, rising from his chair. Still holding her hand, he drew her up to stand with him. “I hope that this is the beginning of a most profitable relationship for us both.’’ He raised her fingers, and his lips brushed lightly across her skin.
    The parlor door opened at that fortuitous moment. The earl was still holding her hand as the footman entered. The manservant’s quick eyes took in the charming position at a glance, but his expression did not reflect his startled thoughts. “My lord, you requested to be notified when a reply to your note had been received.”
    “Ah, yes.” Lord Chatworth held out his hand peremptorily. The footman came over, conveying a silver salver with a single folded note resting upon it. The earl took up the note and broke the seal. He waved the footman out.
    After perusing the note swiftly, Lord Chatworth turned to Babs. “I had a bit of business to see to when we got to the house. I hope that you do not mind it, my dear, but I fear that I shall be going out this evening. It is the sort of engagement that I prefer not to put off.”
    Babs smiled and there was a wealth of understanding in the depths of her green eyes. She had caught the faintest hint of scent wafting off the note. “Of course, my lord. I understand perfectly, and to be truthful, I prefer to make mine an early evening. It has been a very eventful and fatiguing day, as I am certain that you will agree.”
    Lord Chatworth bowed. His mouth was curled in that peculiarly arrogant smile that so set Babs' teeth on edge. “Quite so. I shall be hard put to do justice to my engagement,” he said softly, his thoughts already on his mistress.
    Before she could stop herself, Babs made an abrupt gesture of distaste. She realized what she had conveyed to the gentleman standing beside her, and she gave a rueful laugh. “It will be more difficult than I bargained to learn to be the wife that you wish of me,” she said.
    “I do not think it will be at all difficult to recall once you learn just where the lines are drawn, my dear,” drawled Lord Chatworth, annoyed by his wife’s temerity in showing her disapproval.
    The blood rushed to Babs’ face. She bit her lip in vexation. Fortunately for her pride, the footman had already returned to his duty and so was not witness to the heavy set-down she had received. She drew her breath and said, “We have an agreement, my lord, it is true. But I do not think that it includes baiting each other.”
    “My apologies, my lady.” Lord Chatworth bowed once more and he courteously offered his arm to her so that he could escort her to an early dinner. But he once more wore that infuriating smile.
    Babs refused to glance at him as they left the parlor.
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Chapter 8
    Babs saw from the serving of the first course that the earl’s attention was not really with her. He had a distant expression in his eyes that she thought she knew very well. She had learned long ago as a child that to interrupt her father’s reflections was tantamount to requesting an instant rake-down. She had no reason to believe that the earl was any different in his reactions, and so she was extremely wary of giving offense in any way. She replied politely and civilly when his lordship spoke to her, but otherwise she did not elaborate on any topic or introduce conversation of her own.
    They talked in a desultory fashion of the wedding, of the various dishes that were set before them, of the probable duration of Lady Azaela’s stay in London, but nothing was touched upon concerning the matter that had brought them so abruptly and irrevocably together.
    Lord Chatworth was bored out of his mind with his dull-witted wife. He had spent an hour and a